


Durthang

by Ianeth



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-02-27 23:46:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13259127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ianeth/pseuds/Ianeth
Summary: A canonical gap filler which examines how the watch on Mordor might have come to an end during the Third Age





	1. The Patrol

The sun beat down mercilessly on the small column of soldiers as they trudged along the old road that ran arrow straight beneath the towering cliffs of the northern mountains. Far below now on the arid plain from which they had climbed dust devils sprang up periodically but on the heights there was no sign of the stiff breeze that drove them which would have offered some relief from the heat. Sergeant Morthir, white haired and with a tanned face creased like well beaten leather called a brief halt and uncorked his canteen. He sipped carefully so as not to take too much of the tepid but precious contents, for there were no wells in this part of the land and they would not be able to refill their bottles and skins again until the end of the following day’s march. There was no water and little or nothing grew there, as if the ground remembered even now the torment that had been visited upon it so long ago. Morthir had travelled widely in many lands during his many years of service and had seen much, but never had he known a place like the one they now approached. At the base of a great ridge of rock which descended from the heights was a ruin so vast it was difficult to know where broken stone ended and mountain began, for it was on a scale beyond that of any work of men. The road they marched on ran straight and true into the base of the colossal mound of rubble and disappeared, for the great iron gate it had once served now lay long broken and buried beneath it.

 _Barad Dur._ Even after sixteen hundred years it was still a name to strike dread into the stoutest hearts, and the tales of the valour, great deeds and tragedy that led to its fall and ruin were well known to all in Gondor and in many lands beyond. Morthir had visited the place many times during his time in what had once been the black land, but the feeling of awe he felt there had never diminished. The fortress must have been on a scale beyond anything he had ever seen, almost beyond imagining, battlement upon battlement and tower upon tower. Untold years of labour and suffering had gone into its building, and lives beyond counting had been lost in the wars and long siege that had led to its eventual destruction. Close by, marking the spot where Sauron had finally been slain and where Elendil and Gil-galad had perished in the deed and in memory all others who all had fallen in that fight however great or humble, stood a tall pillar of sky iron, black as night. It had been raised by Isildur and Elrond Halfelven after the victory and in times past the Kings of Gondor had made regular pilgrimages there, but now only the soldiers of the Mordor garrisons ever came that way. The watch had dwindled over the centuries for the  garrisons were remote and expensive to man and supply,  their role was almost entirely symbolic now. However no king had been prepared to be the one to take the step bring to the watch on Mordor to an end. In that year of 1636 only two of the former strongholds were still manned and then only lightly, Cirith Ungol at the head of the Ithil Vale and Durthang overlooking Gorgoroth and the Isenmouthe.

The sun had dropped onto the summit ridge of the western mountains by the time they arrived at their destination, finally offering a little relief along with an evening breeze that came down from the heights. Like Morthir the men of his patrol were deeply affected by the place and worked to pitch their camp in unaccustomed near silence, speaking to each other in hushed tones. They had camped close to the road and a respectful distance from the pillar and when all was ready Morthir gestured to them to follow him and they made their way there to perform the remembering of the west. It was a simple ceremony carried out each evening at sunset or before the night meal throughout the western lands and almost without thought, but in that place it truly had meaning. Afterwards they ate their rations in companionable silence and then bedded down in their blankets to wait for sleep as the sky darkened and the first stars began to flicker alight overhead.

Morthir did not know how long he had been asleep but the sky was now ablaze with stars and the waning moon had risen from behind the summits far above his head, casting a feeble light over him and his sleeping companions. He adjusted his position to make himself more comfortable on the rough pebble strewn earth and settled down again to wait for sleep to return. As was their custom they had not set a watch, for there was no reason to when the land had been at peace for so long. Morthir was glad of it, for it was hard enough marching for days on end at his age without having to try and stay awake half the night as well, not if it were to no good purpose. Far above at the edges of his vision the summits of the Ered Lithui stood, sharply defined by the sudden absence of stars. A small movement there caught his eye, and for a moment he thought he’d imagined it, but as he turned his full gaze that way he realised he was not mistaken. The darkness of the mountain tops had suddenly started to spread, the stars winking out one by one and then as he watched with increasing speed. Although it did not seem possible the entire field of blackness also seemed to grow deeper, for it was something more sensed than seen. Never in all his years had he witnessed anything like this, for no cloud could move at such a pace and there was nothing more than a light breeze to drive it. Though it had been mild he suddenly felt the bite of icy air and caught his breath, which now steamed and he drew his blankets to him. The moon was extinguished and the black tide swept inexorably onwards until the last few stars in the west and south vanished and there was nothing but darkness. It was so complete that he could see nothing at all now, and he grew fearful at the strangeness of it all. Though he knew he still lay on the ground wrapped tightly in his blanket he felt a growing feeling of disorientation, the darkness in front of him seeming somehow to open up. It was beyond his comprehension but it seemed to him that he now found himself poised above a fathomless void into which he might tumble at any moment. Seized by fear, his breath coming now in rapid gasps he dug his fingers into the dirt, desperate to hold on and prevent himself from falling, but it was too late.


	2. Orodruin

Morthir sat up with a muffled cry, shaking with fear, his fingers raking the dust and pebbles at his sides and his blankets tumbled round him. Everything was suddenly as it had been before the darkness came, the bundled shapes of his companions lay nearby and the moon and countless stars still cast their pallid light overhead. The horror of the dream took a while to pass, for it was like no other that he had ever known, nor had he ever felt a fear like it even though he had faced death in many battles throughout his long service. Even at his age he was still occasionally troubled by dreams in which bad memories returned to haunt him but he understood those, this dream on the other hand had shaken him deeply. He was not the sort to be easily frightened, and nor was it the fear of falling that had troubled him the most but the intense malice that he had felt awaiting him in the void.

Morning soon came and to Morthir’s relief it seemed that none of his companions had been disturbed by his sudden awakening, and if anyone else had shared his strange dream then they were not admitting to it. The morning sun did lift his spirits but the memory of the dream still weighed heavily on his mind, and he wasted no time in getting the patrol under way again. The monstrous ruin and the black pillar at its foot were soon receding into the distance as they set off south and west on the road to Orodruin. The broken cone of the ancient fire mountain could be seen clearly in the distance, with the Ephel Duath and the gap of Cirith Ungol far beyond but it would be two days before they would reach it. It was going to be another hot day and the men were already grumbling about it but Morthir knew that he and the other veterans among them had seen far worse in Harad and Khand.  This was more than tolerable in comparison, and at least the patrols offered a break from the endless tedium of life in the garrison.

After a lifetime of service in the army of Gondor which had seen him take part in countless campaigns and battles, the most recently being the victory at Pelagir where he had been wounded and lost most of his men, a life of dull routine far from the chance of harm was not unwelcome. In nine months time he would reach the end of his service and would be pensioned off, something he looked forward to but also worried about. He was a mountain man from the high vales of the Ered Nimrais in Lamedon, but had spent little enough time there over the years for his postings had often taken him too far away to easily make the journey home. He had even considered settling down in one of the lowland cities instead, but he still had family in the vale who would welcome him back and he missed the mountains. One of the few things you could say for Mordor is that it had plenty of those.

It was widely held amongst the soldiery of Gondor that only old men and misfits were posted to serve in the black land, and Morthir often thought that there was more than a little truth to it when he considered his men. Most were indeed veterans like himself, seeing out their time, and their recently departed commander at Durthang, Duinthor, had been another who had gone at last to a comfortable retirement on his family’s estates south of Minas Anor. He had been a good commander, understanding the relative futility of their task and treating his men with a light touch. Morthir hoped that his replacement, who ought to have arrived by the time his patrol ended would be of the same sort, and not some upstart with a blemished record and a point to prove. If so he and the other sergeant, Belchanar would have to work on him to bring him round to their way of thinking. The thought made him chuckle, for there was nothing subtle about his colleague but despite their differences they did work well together and he was able to curb some of Belchanar’s excesses. Nonetheless it was Belchanar who had been left in temporary command by Duinthor on his departure ahead of the vastly more experience and respected Morthir, and if that had been because the former was of good tall Numenorean stock rather than a short squat mountain man then it wouldn’t have been the first time. Morthir tried not to let such things bother him, for it would serve no purpose, but he did sometimes wonder how high he might have risen in the ranks if circumstances had been different, as it had been for so many of the young lads he had once served alongside. It was barely two hundred years since thousands had perished and cities had been laid waste in the kinslaying but the attitudes that had driven it were still very common.

That night, much to his relief the dream of darkness did not return and in the morning with their water bottles and skins refilled at the roadside well set off again, their next objective now much closer, its jagged top standing stark against the deep blue sky. Ironically what in ancient times must have been a blasted waste of tormented rock around the base of the mountain was now a thickly vegetated plain covered with tough thick leaved and prickly plants, flowers and small trees amongst the rocks, the air all around filled with scent and birdsong. It was a very different place to Barad Dur and was much more to Morthir’s liking, for there at least what had once been evil was now redeemed.

The rest of the patrol passed uneventfully, as it always did, but a few days later after they had finally turned northward on the last leg of their journey the weather changed and a strong wind sprang up from the south, filling the sky with high hazy cloud. Morthir knew only too well what this presaged and hoped they would reach Durthang and be spared, but his hopes were in vain. All too soon the haze in the heavens was replaced by mighty thunderheads and for many hours the sky boomed ominously and lightning forked down in the distance and the air was thick with tension. At last the rain came and the thunder and lightning intensified, the explosions amplified by the mountains above.  All at once dozens of dry ravines that crossed beneath the road were transformed into raging torrents, and everywhere newborn waterfalls were cascading down the cliffs. Not a moment too soon the bedraggled patrol reached what had once been a major way station and camp in times long past but which now provided them with a couple of simple bunkhouses in which to shelter for the night.

The thunderstorm had ceased but it was still raining hard in the morning as Morthir and his men prepared for their final day’s march. In better weather their objective would already have been visible, high up on a shoulder of the mountains ahead and far above, but for now cloud and rain hid it from view. The fortress of Durthang had been built in the days of the last alliance in answer to and in defiance of the much larger stronghold it faced across the plateau of Gorgoroth. It had been built upon and into a great step in the ridge that descended from the summit of the same name a thousand feet or more above the plain, and it was served by a road that rose endlessly in long ramps to reach its precipitous gate. It had provided its builders with a nigh unassailable redoubt and enabled them to maintain a watch over all the lands between it and the walls of Barad Dur. It was of a similar design but much larger than the fortress at Cirith Ungol, rising in three tiers against the mountain and topped with a single great tower. The prospect from even the lowest level was enough to strike fear into the heart of anyone unaccustomed to heights, but it had never troubled Morthir. In the days of its glory it had housed a garrison a thousand strong, but now barely thirty men held it and all but a small part of the first circle close to the courtyard had been abandoned. It was testament to the great skill of those who had laboured in long years past to build that it remained in good repair despite the neglect.

By noon Morthir and his bedraggled patrol had reached the meeting of the ways that marked the start of the climb up to the fortress, and began to make their way up that steep road. It took them many hours and although the rain ceased they soon found themselves swathed in cloud that came and went, sometimes reducing visibility to a few yards, sometimes temporarily parting and affording glimpses of the craggy heights close by. Eventually they rounded the final turn on the road and the dark bulk of the gate tower loomed over them through the mist, the bell clanging far above in the mist to announce their return. The sentries on the gate, who were warm and dry did not fail to comment on their sodden condition, and once ribaldries had been exchanged Morthir asked them if there had been any arrivals in their absence. Surprised at the news that the fortress was still awaiting its new commander Morthir dismissed his men, thanking them for their efforts, and set off to complete the final formalities and file his report.

 


	3. The Hunt

The archive was to the rear of the second level of the fortress in an area that was otherwise now empty, and Morthir, his legs already complaining from the long climb made his way there up stairways and along many gloomy galleries and passages until he reached it. Within, the walls were lined with many large dusty ledgers, some so old they would crumble into dust if anyone attempted to move them. Here were all the reports and records spanning the long history of the castle, and on a desk near to a window the newest volume lay open. Picking up the ink pot and quill that lay alongside Morthir began to carefully and methodically enter the date and his name. He had learned to write long ago, but it still did not come easily to him, and he resorted to copying the bold scrawl above recording Belchanar’s observation, which was the same as countless others before in that volume and the many others. “No enemy sighted, patrol uneventful”. He then thought about adding something about the bad weather before deciding it was too difficult.

He had just finished when he heard footsteps approaching, and the large frame of Belchanar himself suddenly filled the door frame. He saluted lazily, and Morthir returned it in similar fashion.

“Greetings brother Mort, how fare you? The usual excitement?”

Morthir shrugged “Apart from the rain we’ve had for the last three days. And my old bones aching, I’m getting too old for this patrolling game. Still nothing from Cirith?”

Belchanar shook his head, the usual wry grin marking his handsome but slightly battered features. “Nothing. Not like our lords and masters to leave us to our own devices for so long is it. The supply wagons are overdue too, I take it you didn’t see any sign of them on the road? We’ll be out of food in the next week or so unless they turn up”.

Again Morthir shrugged. “No, nothing, though we would have been hard pressed see anything in all the rain and fog. Once it passes I’ll take Astamir with me up the long passage and see if we can get a couple of nice fat mountain goats to give us a bit of a change and keep us going a bit longer. But right now I’m going to get this wet stuff off and put my feet up”.

Many storerooms and chambers had been delved into the mountain during the construction of the fortress and at their furthermost point there was a hidden door barring the way to a low passageway that ran straight and true for a good distance into the mountain, climbing steadily as it went. It was a secret way that emerged through another strong door onto a high shelf upon the mountainside. From there a long and precipitous stairway, similar in nature to stair in the Vale of Ithil had once offered a second way down to the plain far below. Rock falls on the mountain had long since broken parts of it and it was no longer passable, and as a result the doors were now left open and the passageway was no longer a secret. Ibex often came to graze on the shelf among the chaos of tumbled boulders and stunted pines and those of the garrison with a head for heights and a steady shot would go and hunt them there from time to time.

So it was that Morthir and his companion made their way into the depths of the castle the following morning and took the passageway that led to the high place, watching the pinpoint of light at the far end of the tunnel gradually increase in size as they made their way along it. The rain had cleared away overnight and a fresh breeze now blew over the heights from the south. On the terrace cloud boiled up out of the depths below and regularly obscured the sun, intermittently shrouding everything in a thick grey mist before the sun burned through again but Morthir did not mind as it would make their job easier. They scrambled amongst the great boulders and tree roots, careful in their movements and conscious all the while of the yawning  gulf not far below them until they found suitable spots to lie in wait for their prey. Then it would simply be a matter of waiting for the ibex to come within range and hopefully bring a couple down.

Astamir, Morthir’s hunting companion was a few years younger than he was, and a man of few words. He was a woodsman from Pinath Gelin originally and the best archer in the garrison by far, and despite coming from the lowlands was similarly little troubled by heights. He was one of Belchanar’s men and not someone Morthir had come known before he was posted to Durthang, but they seemed to enjoy their quiet companionship and he was always Morthir’s first choice as a hunting partner.

The morning passed slowly, with no sign of the Ibex, but this was nothing unusual. Morthir was still very weary from the long patrol and the air was fresh and comfortable high up and he eventually dozed despite his best efforts to stay alert. He came to a short while later with a start, silently cursing his ineptitude but Astamir who was hidden in the rocks uphill still sat stock still in his customary stance giving no sign of having noticed his dereliction of duty and the foreground was still empty of quarry. As he watched the cloud swirled in and the world went grey again, but this time the sun failed to reappear after the expected interval. Morthir was unconcerned, as cloud tended to thicken up high as the day progressed and it would just be a matter of being patient, but then it thickened further and he felt unexpectedly cold. Momentarily he thought he saw something dark moving in the mist in front of him and thought to raise his bow, but then as quickly as it had come the mist suddenly lifted resolving the familiar shapes of the rocks before him and there was nothing there. The sudden chill had gone too, which was strange, but he thought nothing more of it till he realised Astamir had left his hiding place and was making his way unsteadily down to him. His manner was agitated and he had suddenly become uncharacteristically garrulous.

“Did you see it? There was something in the mist! Or somebody” He shuddered.

“Yes, thought I saw something and nearly put a shot into it”. He looked at his companion with an expression of surprise. “What’s got into you? Somebody? There can’t be anyone else up here or we’d have heard them coming up the passage”

“That was no goat. I don’t know what it was but I didn’t like it at all. I felt something”.

He dropped his gaze, clearly embarrassed, and Morthir got the impression that his suddenly talkative spell had come to an end. A little unsettled by his companion’s odd behaviour, and aware that if there was a large animal loose on the heights then the ibex would have fled far away anyway Morthir decided to bring their hunt to a premature end. Astamir needed no second prompting to return to the passage entrance with him, where as a sensible precaution Morthir pulled the ancient door to on shrieking hinges and locked it from within, plunging their path into complete darkness.

Later, having been asked whether the hunt had been successful Morthir told Belchanar about what had happened, and Astamir’s uncharacteristic reaction. “Must have been a mountain lion or something, though it’s unusual to see them this side of the mountains or so high up. We’ll have another try tomorrow”.


	4. A Dream Of Darkness

The following day was cloudless and warm even on the heights, and Morthir and Astamir were able to bring two good sized carcasses back with them which the cook wasted no time in butchering and mounting on spits. Far below the plains had temporarily become an uncharacteristic shade of green following the rains and long dormant seeds burst into life but it would not take long for them to bake and parch again now the weather had returned to its normal pattern. Watch as they might though they saw no riders or wains approaching on the road from the south, and to the north and east the Vale Of Udun and its abandoned forts and Gorgoroth remained empty and lifeless.

As was often his habit Morthir was alone on the wall of the first circle later that evening taking the air and watching the shadow of the mountains lengthen across the plains below when Belchanar approached him and stood for a moment admiring the same view.

“Still nothing from Cirith. We’re going to have to send someone down there to find out what’s happening, goat is nice for a change but I doubt we’ll be able to shoot enough to keep us from starving. Any volunteers?” The last was said with meaning, which Morthir took.

“I’ll go if I have to, but isn’t there anyone else we can send? I’ve barely recovered from my last patrol and you know Lord Arathan and I don’t see eye to eye”

This was an understatement, Morthir had served for a number of years under the current commander at Cirith Ungol, who had always been exceptionally hard on him, something which he had always suspected was a result of his background rather than his ability.

“Hmmm, you have a point.  I suppose I could just send a couple of lads with a letter, and they can always turn round and come back if they meet anyone coming the other way. Or I could go myself?”

“Our new master, whoever he ends up being, might take a dim view of you leaving your post and barking yourself instead of sending one of your hounds. Better to send a couple of the younger lads in your squad like Rumil and his pals, they’re all chafing at the moment and nearly came to real blows in the practice square this morning. I had a job pulling them apart and calming them down”

Belchanar stroked his chin thoughfully. “Good thing it wasn’t me that found them at it or I’d have laid the lot of them out. They’re not the brightest but they’ll do, surely even they can carry a letter and find their way unaided to Cirith. Let’s get them on their way tomorrow, I’ll go and write the letter now”

With that he turned and left and Morthir remained where he was for a little while longer. The shadows below spread further and further and the distant lands that still hadn’t been consumed by the ever lengthening shadow of the mountains became tinged with gold.

After a rather sparse evening meal Morthir and his men settled down for the night in their dormitory as they always did. Shortly after midnight however Morthir’s sleep was disturbed by his neighbour, who gave a low cry and sat up in his cot panting and remained upright for some time.

“You OK Galdir?” whispered Morthir after it was clear he was not just going to lie back down and go back to sleep. It was not entirely unusual for a soldier to relive old horrors in their sleep, especially veterans who had seen and done much in their time. Galdir had been with him at Pelargir and they were firm friends so it grieved him to see him so obviously distressed. He mumbled something in the affirmative in reply and then settled back down.

In the morning Belchanar dispatched the three young soldiers on their way with his letter and dire warnings as to what would befall them at his hand if they failed in any way. Morthir watched them disappear down the road from the wall and then noticed Galdir on his own nearby. He approached him and laid a sympathetic hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“How fare you this morning? Bad dream last night”

“Yes indeed, sorry I disturbed you” He glanced around to make sure nobody else was within earshot. “It was like no other dream I’ve ever had before though, passing strange and I’m not ashamed to say it frightened me terribly, more than any night terror I have ever had before” He shuddered at the memory.

Morthir felt a little knot of apprehension in his stomach, for he half guessed what he was about to hear.

“I dreamt that I woke in the night, or thought that I had for so real did it seem, and rose troubled from my bed. The moon was bright and I had no trouble finding my way up to the walls on the second level, and I stood for a while looking out over the plains and the shadow of the far mountains. Then the darkness of their shadow began to rise, eating the stars and moon as it came until all light was extinguished and there was nothing but a bottomless black pit full of evil and I was certain I would fall into it. Then I awoke. It sounds foolish under the bright sun but it completely unmanned me”.

Morthir shuddered a little remembering the fear and hopelessness for himself, but disconcerting as it was decided not to tell his friend that he too had dreamt of the same thing.

“Passing strange indeed, and no ordinary dream, but we are here under the sun and all is well. Or at least it will be when we get news from the south and some provisions!” He gave his friend’s shoulder a final reassuring squeeze and then they both made their way back down to the courtyard in silence. But despite his cheerful words he remained uneasy, remembering afresh his own dream and wondering at the strangeness of it all and what it might mean.


	5. News At Last

Later that morning the bell in the gatehouse tower let out a sonorous clang, and hearing it Morthir stopped what he was doing in the armoury and made his way there to find out what it could mean, meeting Belchanar on the way. It was too soon for the deputation to Cirith Ungol to have come into view on the road down below so the sentries must have seen something else. So it proved when one of the men standing watch replied to Belchanar’s breathless demand to know what was happening as they reached the roof door of the guardhouse tower.

“Rider on the south road” was the curt reply, and the man patiently pointed the location of the tiny figure out over the parapet. “Well done, we should hopefully have some news at long last” said Morthir warmly and the soldier nodded his acknowledgment.

It was late afternoon when the bell finally clanged again and the rider entered the courtyard through the open gates and dismounted. Morthir met him there and gave orders for his weary mount to be fed and watered in the very large but otherwise empty stable block nearby before taking him inside. He was one of the regular messengers, a man from Anorien named Pelendur with unusual red hair which caused him much ribbing, something he took in good heart. They entered the commander’s chambers where Belchanar was waiting and after an exchange of salutes he handed over a letter and gave them his news, his expression unusually grave.

“Arathan, Commander at Cirith Ungol sends his salutations and regrets that it has taken so long to bring you tidings for it was a while before we knew anything was amiss ourselves. I was sent down to Ithil to seek news of the overdue supply trains and that’s when we learned of the pestilence that has taken hold in the lowlands. Nobody is sure where or how it started but it has reached Osgiliath and Anor now and people are falling sick with it and dying within days. Lord Celebdil has barred the road into Ithil Vale and by that means hopes to keep his people free of it, though even with his greater stores and the farm holdings there he cannot do so indefinitely and will starve just like us.

I bring orders instructing you leave all in good order and evacuate the fortress until such time as supplies can be restored. Arathan told me to tell you that it is your choice as to which road you wish to take back to the lowlands. Given the situation in Osgiliath and Ithil Vale it might be prudent to go northward through Udun and thence into North Ithilien rather than take the usual road. And perhaps some of the further flung lands may be spared this. For my part I must return south tomorrow, my mount may be needed again and I know you have very little store of forage here”.

Belchanar exhaled slowly and muttered a curse, breaking the seal on the orders before quickly reading them and then repeating the curse.

“Well that’s news and no mistaking. Mort, sound the bell for general muster and get the men into the hall, we’ve got work to do. What of the three lads you met on the road, are they on their way back up?”

The messenger looked surprised “Lads? I met no others there”

Belchanar let out a bellow of exasperation and cursed his soldiers before turning his thoughts back to more pressing matters. He dismissed the messenger, instructing him to take what rest and refreshment he could find, before making his way to the great hall. There the men were already gathering as the bell clanged remorselessly somewhere overhead.

They received the news in shocked silence, and each one’s thoughts were the same, of the peril their loved ones far away now faced. Morthir too could not help wondering whether this plague had reached his beloved mountain vale, or whether his people too might have had the foresight to shut out the outside world in an attempt to remain free of it. To Morthir’s surprise as he stood on the dais alongside him Belchanar gave his men a choice as to whether to go home via the north or south, and laid out the pitfalls of both roads. He listened to various opinions, particularly those of an old hand who had previously served many years before at the Morannon before it was abandoned and had travelled in that land.

“I will go north” he said “but if any of you want to take your chances the other way I won’t stand in your way. But we’ll do this like soldiers, or I’ll have your hides. Either way it’s going to be a long and difficult journey, and we’ll have to make what little rations we have left go a long way. I’ll let you all think about it for a moment and then I want a show of hands”.

The great hall echoed to a sudden rush of alarmed conversation and when it subsided and a show of hands took place the overwhelming majority of the soldiers had decided to follow their acting commander north. With that various orders were issued in preparation for the evacuation and the men were suddenly filled with a new found purpose, along with a good deal of concern and fear of what might await them back home in Gondor.

In all the hubbub the puzzle of the missing trio was all but forgotten and the gates were closed at sunset as normal. Prompted by Morthir, Belchanar did however order a small patrol to be sent to the bottom of the mountain the following morning. Pelendur the messenger also promised to keep an eye out for them on his way back to Cirith Ungol and Belchanar instructed him to tell them to keep going south should he meet them. For now their return to Durthang would suit no purpose.


	6. The Night Watch

Despite the lack of any great need a pair of sentries were still posted on the gate at night as good discipline and order demanded. Each man in the garrison took his turn by rota, which meant a night watch every three weeks at current strength. Some took their duty less seriously than others, and their commanders had often turned a blind eye to this. As a result many of their men simply slept during their watches in the gate tower, which was much quieter and more restful than the dormitories. Morthir however had always insisted on doing his job properly, splitting  the watches with his companion, which made him a less than popular pick in the draw. His next watch was due the following night, the night before they were due to depart, and he was already debating whether it would be more prudent to break with long habit and sleep through it. He was too old to set off on a long march having missed out on his sleep and he doubted Belchanar would care.

He awoke in the dark, confused, surrounded by voices muttering and cursing. The gatehouse bell had sounded, not an alarm, but sounded nonetheless to announce an arrival. That had never happened in his time, not ever, but it meant he would have to get up and sort it out. Who was it that was on duty? It was Artamir and the young simpleton Borondil and he feared for the latter if he had got up to mischief, for Belchanar would likely beat him to a pulp for it. Sighing, he roused himself quickly, dressing as he went and made his way as quickly as he could to the gatehouse tower. Belchanar was already there and Morthir could hear him yelling in fury at the boy as he climbed the long stair to the roof.

He arrived there to see Borondil cowering as Belchanar began to cuff him, Artamir standing some way back shamefaced and clearly wishing he could be somewhere else. With practiced ease he approached his fellow sergeant affably and attempted to calm the situation.

“What’s the story then?”

“This fool says he saw something and rang the bell, but he can’t tell me what. I’ll teach him to wake the castle up over nothing”

“Artamir?”

The archer shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot and mumbled “Sorry. Was asleep”

Belchanar had paused his beating but still held the lad by the surcoat, so Morthir took his opportunity.

“Let him up brother, at least he was doing his job properly. Now then lad, what did you see?”

The boy stuttered and cringed as he spoke, expecting further blows.

“Sh-sh-shadow” he gasped “D-d-down below. Only there a moment but I saw it, was there, wouldn’t ring the bell for nothing, I wouldn’t , I wouldn’t”

Belchanar let go of his collar and he stood up. Morthir sighed, he was wide awake now anyway and knew what he had to do.

“Belchanar, I think the lad is telling the truth. I’ll take over the watch if you like and keep an eye out just in case whatever he saw, or thinks he saw, comes back”. Belchanar, glad to have had the situation dealt for him and keen to return to bed nodded his assent and shaking his head bid them good night and left by the tower door.

“Borondil lad, I’ll take over your watch, give sergeant Belchanar a moment to get out of the way and then you go back to your bed too. Artamir, go and get your hunting bow, if there are goats out there, or a stray mountain lion then we may as well have them”. The two other men did as they were bid and left Morthir alone to settle down in his favoured spot on the parapet.

The night was pleasant and cool and a fresh breeze blew down from the heights. The night was cloudless, as was often the case and a bright waning moon sailed across the sea of stars overhead. Down below Morthir could see the faint pool of light cast by the lantern that hung above the gate, but for the moment nothing moved in the deep shadows that surrounded it. After a short while Artamir returned with his bow and a quiver of arrows and he too settled down nearby making an obvious effort to stay awake. He would occasionally rise to his feet to walk a few circuits around the tower to help ward off sleep. He said nothing, and Morthir did not expect him to or wish to trouble him by speaking to him.

Artamir was just completing another of his circuits when he suddenly stopped mid stride. At the same moment Morthir thought he saw something move at the edge of the pool of light. He instantly signalled silently to the archer who with a hunters practised skill deftly nocked an arrow and crept to the edge of the parapet. Below nothing stirred, but as he watched he became more and more certain that something, or someone was standing just beyond the reach of the lamplight and the hairs on the back of his neck stood unexpectedly on end. He stole a glance at his companion and could not help noticing a glint of fear in his eyes and he realised that whatever it was below was the same thing they had glimpsed in the mist a few days before whilst hunting. Then there was a twang, the brief song of an arrow in flight and then the clatter of wood bouncing on stone, and all of a sudden the spell was broken. There was nothing below them now but a familiar pool of lamplight surrounded by the empty night.

“Was it the same?” asked Morthir carefully of his companion

“It were” came the hoarse reply.


	7. Fear And Death

The remainder of their watch passed off uneventfully and at Artamir’s prompting Morthir had snatched a precious couple of hours of sleep between first light and the beginning of the day watch. He told himself it was reasonable in the circumstances, and the least Artamir could do to make up for his earlier misdemenours.

He was just finishing his meagre breakfast when Belchanar approached him.

“Well? Did you see any more ghosts?”

Morthir cleared his throat.

“The boy was right, there was something out there. It came back, though we couldn’t really see anything I had no doubt about it, nor did Artamir. He loosed a shot, but didn’t hit anything, though it seemed to be enough to drive it away. I didn’t tell you at the time  because it didn’t seem to matter but we both thought we saw something up on the high shelf in the mist the other day when we were hunting. Both Artamir  and I think it was the same thing and I closed doors on the long passage when we came back down just in case”.

It was clear from Belchanar’s expression that he had been about to jest but Morthir’s serious tone had brought him up short, and for a rare moment he was lost for words.

“Very odd. Perhaps I was too hard on the boy then, there are some strange things going on at the moment like Rumil and the others going missing. I’ve just sent that patrol down the hill to see if they can find any trace of them. Our carrot haired friend left with them. Strange times altogether with what’s going on at home, all very worrying. Did you get any sleep?”

“A little, enough”

“Good, I need you around today. First things first, can you oversee the doling out of the rations for the march first? It’s going to be touch and go whether we can make the distance on what’s left and nobody will dare to accuse you of being unfair.” He gave one of his customary winks but it was a little half hearted.

Morthir spent the rest of the day working tirelessly to prepare for their departure, and despite the uncertainty of what lay ahead it felt good to have a purpose again. It put him in mind of the preparations for a campaign, it made men feel more alive and put a spring in their step despite the impending danger. By late afternoon all was ready and he and Belchanar had their all their men save those watcing on the gate form up in the great hall for inspection. They were both satisfied with what they saw there and the men were dismissed and given the rest of their final day in the castle to dispose of as they wished.

“Well, that’s that then Mort, strange to think that we’ve ended up being the ones who’ll finally abandon it after all these long ages. What a place, I’m not the sentimental kind but it’s certainly seen some stories. Wonder what’ll happen to it now?”

“I’m sure we’ll be back when this all blows over. Leastways I probably won’t given my years but you know what I mean”

Belchanar chuckled. “Don’t be so sure old man, wouldn’t be the same without you to keep me on the straight and narrow. I’m not so sure though, what good are we doing here really? Once we go I can’t see them sending anyone back here afterwards, there’s no purpose to it”.

Morthir was about to reply when they were interrupted by the clang of the bell. “The patrol must be back”.

When they emerged into the yard there was no patrol, just a trembling riderless black horse, drenched in sweat and wild eyed. Pelendur’s horse.

“What in the name of the Valar is going on here?” bellowed Belchanar. “The messenger has gone missing now and the patrol are overdue. I’m getting weary of this!”

Morthir stepped forward.

“With your permission I’ll take a dozen men down the road and return before dark. Six of you, to me!”

Belchanar nodded his assent. “Good man, as ever. Just make sure you damn well come back”.

The first shadows of evening were just beginning to creep down from the heights as they set off down the mountain. Morthir was more agitated than he allowed himself to show, something which had always been a useful skill when leading men into battle, but any opportunity to act rather than just sit around and wait made him feel better. He sincerely hoped they would meet the missing patrol coming the other way around each bend but as one followed another with no sign of them hope began to diminish. It was warm beneath the cliff, sheltered as it was from the breeze and Morthir once again began to feel his age and lack of sleep the previous night. The shadows were now spreading far across the scrubby plains of Gorgoroth far below.

“Enough” called out Morthir and they came to a halt. “We go no further. Time for a breather and a drink and then we will go back uphill”.

With that he sat on the low stone parapet at the site of the road, seemingly impervious to the vast gulf of air immediately below him. As he scoured the road and plains for any sign of the missing men something, a shape or colour out of place caught his eye down the cliff below amongst the shadows. He bent over to look more closely and let out a low groan. Even in the poor evening light it was possible to make out the twisted shapes of at least two bodies and possibly more on the scree hundreds of feet below.

“Any of you who aren’t bothered by heights, I think I’ve found some of our missing men”.

Back at the fortress, Belchanar received the news with a mixture of dismay and disbelief.

“I could see two for certain. There may have been more down there but the light was too poor. They were too far down for me to be able to say who they were and there’s no hope of recovering them. We have to assume that they’re all dead”.

“But how? Men don’t just jump off a cliff in broad daylight!”

Morthir thought about the horse that had turned up earlier that evening in a state of abject terror, and then collapsed and died of exhaustion shortly afterwards. He thought of Artamir and Galdor and how two taciturn men had been frightened like small children.

“Perhaps they do if they’re driven mad with fear” he said quietly.

“What are you suggesting?” Belchanar looked shaken.

“I’m afraid this gets worse. There’s something else I need to tell you about. The night we were at Barad Dur during the last patrol I had a dream. It was no ordinary dream, nor like any I have ever had before or since. It was so vivid I thought I truly awake and as I watched darkness rose into the sky behind the mountains swallowed the stars and the world and I thought I would fall into the void. I have never known fear like it, nor felt anything like the malice that was in that darkness. I know others here have had the same dream too, and I cannot help but wonder if it has a bearing on all these strange events. Perhaps some ancient evil has awoken in this land?”

Belchanar shook his head violently for a moment as if to try and make everything go away, and his voice cracked when he spoke. “No, no, this cannot be. I would rather face ten thousand Haradrim or all the fleets of Umbar and a clean and certain death than this. I cannot fight rumours and monsters in the dark. I don’t know what to do”.

His voice tailed off and there was fear in his eyes, something Morthir had never seen before and which he found deeply unsettling. He summoned his own strength and tried to reassure his fellow.

“We must do as we have planned. We spend one last night here, and stand a full watch on the gate. In the morning we march north to Carach Angren where we can take shelter in the forts if necessary. There are still twenty five of us, we do not know what manner of thing it is that threatens us but that may be enough strength to ward it off”

Morthir left his next thoughts unspoken, imagining them being harried night after night out in the wild by unseen monsters, with nothing and no walls to protect them. There was no certainty the old forts would still be secure or offer them any protection and they faced a long and arduous journey, first through the gloomy vale of Udun and then the barren wastes of the Dagorlad with dwindling rations. The road south offered just as little hope.

“Our only other choice is to remain here and starve, so it is no choice at all”


	8. The Enemy Revealed

Word of the grisly discovery earlier had spread amongst the men and there was an apprehensive atmosphere in the castle that evening. A full guard was to be mounted on the walls so lots were drawn for three watches, meaning almost all the men in the garrison would take a turn. Morthir would take the first watch, which meant that at least he would have the chance of some unbroken rest once he was done.

The first watch passed uneventfully and he handed over to Galdor at midnight. Perhaps nothing would happen after all, and all the strange and dreadful events had run their course. He had not been abed for more than an hour when for the second night in a row the bell sounded, but this time it rang repeatedly signalling an alarm. Morthir and the rest of his men leapt from their beds, buckling on their sword belts and putting on their helms and running in haste up to the walls and gate. Morthir, panting and gasping for air found Belchanar was already there when he reached the top of the gatehouse tower, his face pale and haggard. He gestured weakly over the parapet. “Behold our foe...”

Morthir stumbled forward filled with apprehension, seeing the fear written on the faces of those around him. He reached the parapet and looked down.

There, clearly visible at the edge of the weak pool of lamplight were four looming figures in black, and malice flowed from them like a foul vapour. He knew the taste of it at once, for it was one and the same as that he had known in his dream. The force of it made him buckle at the knees and he gasped, but then he grabbed the stonework and steadied himself. Beside him a soldier fell to his knees and began to weep and Morthir turned to him and cuffed him.

“Haldirion, where is your courage? Go below at once and fetch a lantern. Now!”

Distracted from his fear the younger man did so, springing to his feet and rushing to the door. It seemed to break the spell and those around him atop the tower rallied and came to themselves. Somewhere a short distance away an arrow was loosed, but if it found a mark it had no effect.

“Arrows seem to do no harm to them even at this short range”

It was Belchanar who spoke, his voice flat. Haldirion returned and handed the lantern to Morthir.

“Let us see if fire will”

Morthir returned to the parapet, and felt once again the full force of the malice in the creatures below. He summoned his courage and called down to them.

“In the name of the King of Gondor, state your names and your purpose here”

They did not reply, but one of the hooded figures stepped forward fully into the pool of lamplight and raised its face to him, pointing with a mailed hand at the gate. If there was a face beneath the creature’s cowl then Morthir could not see it, for there was only a deeper darkness there.

“Never” he cried and hurled the oil filled lamp downward, and his throw was perfect, striking the creature’s head and shattering the lantern instantly. In a moment the tall figure was wreathed in flames and it began to writhe and struggle as its companions suddenly retreated from view. There was a blood curdling scream which made men stop their ears and the cloak and cowl suddenly fell at once limp and empty to the ground where they continued to burn fiercely. A ragged cheer went up from the men on the walls and those atop the tower gathered round Morthir, praising him and thanking him for his courage and quick thinking.

“We salute you brother, at least we know how we can fight and destroy them now, whatever they may be, these creatures of darkness”

Morthir did not share their joy.

“I do not think the creature was destroyed by the fire, merely unhoused. In the west of my land there is a haunted vale where the dead walk, cursed by the old kings and the living do not go there. It is said that they fear fire but it does not destroy them and these creatures may be of that kind. All the same we may have found a means of defending ourselves against them. Now return to your duties or your rest all of you, for you will have need of all your strength in the days to come”.

Knowing he would be unable to sleep after what he had just seen and done Morthir accompanied Belchanar back to the commander’s chambers, for they had much to discuss and decisions to make now. Morthir noticed that his fellow sergeant had not shared the rest of the men’s jubilation at seeing one of the creatures destroyed and that he seemed to have lost all of his former swagger and confidence. When they arrived there were a number of dusty leather bound volumes open on the table and Belchanar gestured towards them, his manner downcast.

“I know I’m not one for books or lore, but I was given a job to do here, and I’ve tried to do it as best I could. And you know how grateful I am for your help, what you did back there on the tower shows you were far more worthy of the command than me. But after what has just happened I fear I now know for certain what it is we face, and we are lost”.

He was unable to continue for a moment, and Morthir, concerned, stepped up beside him and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“What do you think they are? What did the books tell you?”

“ _Nazgul”_

Morthir gasped, momentarily unable to take in the import of what he had just heard. A rumour of ancient terror, a word used to threaten naughty children, they had been the dark lord’s lieutenants and now it seemed certain they walked in the world again.

“Gondor must be told, this is of the gravest import”

“I know. But we are caught here like rats in a trap, and even twenty five of Gondor’s best warriors, which we are not, cannot hope to stand against such an enemy in the open. What are we to do?”

Morthir pondered for a moment.

“It is desperate, but if someone were to dare the broken stair whilst the enemy’s attention was elsewhere perhaps they could reach Cirith Ungol undetected?”

“Desperate indeed, none even know where to find it and few would dare that road if it is indeed passable, which is doubtful”

“I know where it lies” said Morthir quietly “I found the top of the stair by accident whilst hunting  goats one day, and followed it as far as the first fallen section. It is perilous, but it may be passable”.

“Who other than you amongst us would dare it?”

“I do not know, and it is too many years since I spent many idle hours scaling the high crags in my home vale looking for nests, so the feat may be beyond me. But if you are right about what we face then there is little hope of our escaping anyway. If you wish it then I will at least try”.

Belchanar seemed to find a little resolve at last.

“I do, go and prepare as you see fit. I will march the men out of the gate and down the hill in the fourth hour after sunrise and draw the enemy’s attention, and if we are to die then at least we will die like men with swords in our hands. Should we live to reach the plain then I will go north as we planned. It has been an honour to serve with you”.


	9. The Broken Stair

Knowing it was likely they would never meet again Morthir and Belchanar embraced. Then the older man left, returning to the dormitory to collect his pack before slipping away quietly and he hoped unnoticed down the the cellars beneath the castle. There he emptied it of anything that would hinder his progress and set aside his sword, breastplate and helm and collected a length of rope and an extra waterskin from one of the storerooms. He also pierced his boot tops and threaded them with laces so he would be able to remove them and stow them around his neck should the need arise. Some difficult sections might need bare feet, but he would prefer not to have to walk all the way to Cirith Ungol without his boots. When all was done he made his way to the hidden doorway, intending to rest for a little while out in the open on the high shelf until the sun came up.

When he reached it in the pitch dark he was shocked to feel a breeze on his face and find the door wide open, despite his having personally closed and locked it. He felt a growing feeling of trepidation but rationalised that perhaps Artamir or one of the others had come that way since and failed to close and lock it again on their return. He hoped they had not been as careless with the top door, but the fresh night breeze and growing patch of half light visible as he approached it told him otherwise. The consequences would not bear thinking about if the enemy had already made their way into the bowels of the fortress. Deeply unsettled, he found a sheltered spot and attempted to rest but only dozed fitfully, his mind full of imagined perils.

It was almost a relief to awake fully and find the sun full up at last and his waiting at an end. After eating and drinking a token amount he dusted himself off, hoisted his pack and set off carefully down the chaos of boulders to where the top of the stairs lay hidden in a fold of the cliff. They were narrow and exceptionally steep at the top and descended hard against the cliff with a terrifying drop of many hundreds of feet to the screes below, which tottered over further tall cliffs. Even one small slip would prove fatal and Morthir commenced the descent very carefully, unbalanced as he was by the pack on his back, the great gulf of air below tugging at his senses with every step. He had both climbed and descended the stair at Cirith Ungol in his time and though parts of it were indeed precipitous this one was an altogether different proposition. It would have been almost impossible to march armed men up it, and very easy to defend against them at the top.

It did not take him long to reach the first broken section, and though a rockfall had removed around sixty yards of stair what remained looked like it would be passable for someone with strong nerves and a head for heights. Morthir sat down carefully, removing his boots and placing them round his neck, before taking a deep breath and setting off across the broken cliff. Handholds and footholds were plentiful but he had to look out for loose rock and at one point almost trusted a foothold he shouldn’t have before it broke off and tumbled into the void. At last it was over and he was back on level ground, albeit a tiny patch, once again. The climb had taxed him, but if there was nothing worse ahead then maybe he would have a chance after all.

As he paused to take another sip of water and allow his breathing to subside he heard the castle bell sound surprisingly close by but out of sight, just a single peal. He felt a wrench at the thought of his fellow soldiers who must be about to commence their march, but then after a short pause the bell crashed into life again, sounding a wild alarm. This continued unabated for a short while before ceasing abruptly again. In the long minutes that followed a few cries and screams and the occasional clash of weapons reached his ears on the breeze before they too finally petered out and the silence returned. He sat frozen to the spot with horror and despair, unable to move, tears coursing down his weathered cheeks.


	10. Desperate Measures

Eventually he gathered himself, and rose once again to his feet before continuing. All the others were gone now, and it was left to him to go on so that they had not died for nothing. The stair ahead now levelled off for a little before once again dropping almost vertically and reversing direction, passing directly below him. Once he had made the turn Morthir could that the route would take him back across the same rockfall scar he had just crossed, but down here it was wider and there was a particularly large patch of yellow coloured rock on the far side that promised to be loose and dangerous. Beyond the stairway continued to descend in the shade of the cliff, actually cut fully into the cliff for a short section where a stunted pine had somehow taken root, its trunk growing out first horizontally from a crack and then turning upwards. There was a pool of deeper gloom behind the trunk where at first glance he imagined another dark figure lurked, but it was no more than a trick of the light and Morthir’s fevered imagination and he turned his thoughts instead to the immediate problem ahead of him.

The first part of the rockfall turned out to be no more difficult than it had been above, but when Morthir reached the edge of the yellow section it became clear that he would find no more traction there. After showering the cliff below with loose stones and clay and thoroughly frightening himself, he found himself clinging to a small pinnacle of broken stone above the fathomless drop, unable to progress. With his muscles screaming and his strength rapidly fading it was all that he could do to make his way back to the end of the stair. He sat there with his limbs shaking and his mind racing, refusing to accept defeat before he remembered the length of rope in his pack and he hatched a further desperate plan.

It might just be long enough. He looped it around his waist and tied it off, and then tied a large loop in the other end before hoisting his pack back on, stowing his boots and coiling the loose end of the rope round his neck. He edged back out across the void filled with renewed hope, for if he could cross this next section there was a good chance the rest of the stair might be intact, for it looked like it left this fold in the cliff and rounded the shoulder into the next one, so he would not have to cross the rockfall for a third time. If so the only problem now was that in doing so it would bring him back within sight of the castle, albeit lower down, but he would have to worry about that later.

Breathing hard and his mouth parched, Morthir reached the small pillar and carefully placed the loop he had tied on the free end of the rope over it, as low down as it would go. It seemed solid enough, but there was no way of telling whether it would hold his weight or whether the rope would fray when he put it to the test. More loose stones fell away periodically from under his feet, clattering away on their long descent to the screes far below and reminding him of the peril of his current situation.

Back out here his plan suddenly seemed very foolish, but he steeled himself and lifted the remaining loops of rope over his head and allowed them to drop away into the gulf. Then with fingers and arms protesting, he slowly allowed his full weight to come onto the rope, which creaked alarmingly as the knot tightened, but held nonetheless. Finding footholds where he could to ease the strain on his arms he slowly lowered himself down to the end of the rope which came tight around his waist and he rested for a moment until the bite of it into his midriff became uncomfortable.

Now he edged sideways again and slightly upward, using his hands and feet to push himself to the right and balancing against the taut rope, which creaked alarmingly. It worked better than he expected and he soon reached the yellowish patch at the centre of the rockfall. The first time he ended up losing traction and swinging back to where he had started from, sending showers of stones and dirt cascading  down the cliff. The second time he had almost made it across, but ended up swinging back with some force, fully expecting the rope to part and striking the cliff hard. The rope held, but the impact dislodged the boots he had hung around his neck and he gave a strangled cry as he watched them fall rapidly away and disappear. This was a bitter blow indeed, but one more thing that would have to be faced later.

At the third attempt he managed to push and pull himself far enough across to reach good rock on the far side of the gap, but by now he was exhausted and the rope was biting into him painfully. A pause and then he began to climb again, one move after another, almost losing his grip several times as he weakened. However as he gained height a new problem presented itself. The rope was not quite long enough and with every he foot climbed it grew tighter and drew him back leftwards towards the looser rock.

Somehow after one final effort he managed to reach up to the first whole step on the far side, but now the pull of the rope prevented him from going any further at all. He was at the end of his strength now, his arms shaking and fingers losing grip and there was no way he would be able to remove the knife he carried from his pack to cut the rope and free himself. Nor was there any prospect of being able to untie the knot at his waist with only one free hand. A fall from his current position would most likely be fatal, either the rope would give way, or the rock, or if they did not the loop of rope around his midriff would cut him in half.

In desperation he began to try and work the loop downward from where it had ridden up into his armpts, little by little, careful to avoid upsetting his balance and. Somehow, little by little, it was working. However the arm with which he held himself to the mountain was growing weak and he knew it would not be long before he would be forced to let go. There was no choice now but to hope the extra few inches he had gained would allow him to pull at least his upper body onto the narrow step and allow him to rest, even if his legs were left dangling. He had to try or that would be the end of it.

With one last effort he pulled up and found he had done just enough to succeed, and lay panting and sobbing with relief on the narrow step like a beached fish. Ahead of him he saw the stair descending into the shade of the gallery that had been cut into the cliff, with the pine growing out of it. And there in the shadows, just as he had imagined and only a matter of yards away stood the hooded figure of a Nazgul cloaked in black. As he watched it drew a long curved dagger from the folds of its cloak and began to climb the steps.

It was a bitter thing for him to have struggled so and come so close to succeeding only to find his way barred at the last and he was suddenly filled with rage and defiance. “You shall not have me, black filth!” he yelled, letting go of the step and pitching himself back into the void as the creature stooped to strike him.

He fell, but not very far, for the rope held and dealt him an agonising blow in the guts before pitching him hard against the cliff a number of times as he swung back and forth like a broken pendulum before. When he came to rest Morthir was momentarily surprised that he still lived, but also knew at once he was mortally hurt. Despite the indescribable pain in his guts and chest and what he guessed to be a broken leg he finally felt calm, for he knew at last with certainty that his suffering would soon be at an end. Wiping the blood from his eyes as he dangled brokenly against the cliff face, he took in the scene around him for the last time. Overhead the sun now burned fiercely from the empty blue sky, around him the great cliffs climbed skyward and all the lands of Mordor were spread out below. At least he would die in the mountains rather than some far off desert.

The Nazgul, cheated of its prey remained immobile at the edge of the drop, watching. Vomiting blood and with every movement an unendurable agony Morthir managed to free one arm from his backpack and reach into it. His shaking fingers found the steel dagger and he pulled it out, before ridding himself of his pack. He watched it tumble and fall rapidly away below him, striking the cliff a number of times on its way down until it came to rest, barely visible on the screes far below. He had resolved to follow it and make a quick end, and pulling the knife from its scabbard began to saw with great effort on the rope.

He felt it stretch and drop as the strands began to part and then with a final shock he was suddenly free. For a moment the world was filled with whirling colour and the roar of wind, then the rocks at the base of the cliff raced up to meet him and he knew no more.

 

The End


End file.
